


Of Course She's A Duck

by sorrens



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crack, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley likes ducks, Fluff and Crack, God they're dorks, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, No Betas We Fall Like Crowley, Post-Canon, and we love him for it, as per usual, well no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-30 14:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20448893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrens/pseuds/sorrens
Summary: Aziraphale suspects Crowley has been dating a human, or worse, a demon by the name of "Abby." Truth is, Crowley just likes feeding the ducks - misunderstandings and hilarity ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley had been acting strange since the apocalypse had failed. He was all of a sudden evasive, and Aziraphale didn’t like it. His suspicions were piqued on a Sunday afternoon. The door jangled as someone entered and Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to send a curt “We’re closed.” thundering up the aisles to meet whatever menace decided to buy books on the sabbath. He was right on one account. Though not there to purchase books on the day of our lord, his visitor liked to think himself as a menace.

“You know angel, I can teach you how to make your books dust themselves.” The demon called out, running a bony finger over what looked to be a century’s worth of dust. “If you put the fear of god in to them—“ he imagined the shelves quaking whenever the bookseller entered the shop.

“No, leave the dust!” The angel burst from the back room, slapping at Crowley’s hand furiously. “It’s how I know which books my _customers_ have touched.”

Poor customers who sounded as welcome as a plague of locusts to the Soho store.

“Is that for me?” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle when he saw the paper bag clutched in the demon’s hand. Since the world had decided not to end, Crowley had fallen in to a habit of popping in to the bookshop with baked goods from all corners of the city, and on one memorable occasion, France.

Crowley looked down like he’d forgotten the bag was there and cleared his throat. Dammit. Despite everything that had happened, the demon still had a small shred of an image to maintain. No amount of speeding in Central London and setting small fires in rubbish bins could revive his reputation if Aziraphale knew he was going to feed the ducks. He was not soft dammit. They just had those little feet, and little eyes, and little ears (yes, that was the first thing Crowley asked Google when it was invented, screw visiting a library). He also felt a little guilty, having just read on Twitter that you’re not supposed to feed ducks bread. He had a bag of fresh peas from the local green grocer.

“Oh, uh, no sorry. Delivery.” He waved the bag awkwardly.

The angel frowned, stepping forward in a halfhearted attempt to snatch the bag.

“Delivery to whom? You don’t know anyone, dear.” _Anyone but me,_ Aziraphale thought desperately. As much as he didn’t want Crowley to be lonely, he’d hoped that his presence was more than enough for the demon. Sure, they’d had acquaintances over the years, the hazard of living amongst social animals, but the angel liked to think he was the only one Crowley was seeing regularly.

The demon scoffed. _Shit, shit, shit._ His mind was a roulette wheel of names he’d picked up over the years. _Who was he meeting? What’s a normal, human name?_

“It’s for Abby.” Crowley cleared his throat.

Yes, Abby, the very real woman who was most certainly not his favourite duck at St James’ park.

Something flittered across Aziraphale’s face that the demon didn’t quite catch, before it was replaced with a look of surprise.

There was silence, and he realised his friend was waiting on further details.

“Ah, she’s a lady,” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, fumbling for details. He was a demon, for satan’s sake, when did he become so bad at lying! “Who leant me a…” he looked around desperately “…book.” _Shit._

Aziraphale frowned, basically confirming that this wasn’t quite adding up.

“It’s a special book. You wouldn’t have it. It’s about plants. House plants. Big house plants.” He added, somewhat defensively. “I bumped in to her at a plant sale. She bought it from Waterstones and I thought, oh I can’t go supporting the big businesses, so I just borrowed hers.” Name dropping a chain of bookstores Aziraphale regularly complained about was a stroke of genius, Crowley decided. The angel’s face instantly softened from the hard lines of suspicion.

“Oh, well. That’s really a good idea, dear. I loathe to think how much more these shops can corrupt such a fraught industry. My goodness, next they’ll be selling DVDs and electronic books.”

Now that he was off the hook, Crowley decided not to point out that Waterstones had both of those things, lest he send his friend in to a downward spiral. He just had to get out of there before the angel looked closely at the bag and realised it was decidedly not book shaped.

“Anyway, got to go.” Crowley backed up towards the door.

“Wait!”

He cringed with one foot out the door.

“Why did you drop by then?”

Oh, good point.

“I was going to ask, dinner tonight? Say seven-ish?”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement.

“Perfect, I’ll see you then.”

⁂

_The menace, the absolute menace._

Aziraphale slammed the door with some force when his friend left. For a demon he was a bloody poor liar. As if he was trying to convince a book collector of all people that there was a book in that tiny paper bag. Aziraphale wouldn’t have believed it even if he hadn’t seen the stamp on the side, plain as day:

“Soho Specialities”

He knew the store and he knew the only time Crowley had shopped there was to buy macaroons for Aziraphale. He trembled with rage. It doesn’t do to jump to conclusions. Surely if Crowley was seeing someone, he would be open about it? They shared everything with each other for heaven’s sake! He hadn’t know Crowley to date at all since the advent of civilised society and invention of the verb “to date.” Maybe it was the end of the world that shook something loose in him, some desire for stability, for love.

For perhaps the first time ever, the thought of love made the angel gag. Crowley didn’t need a partner— his brain wasn’t willing to finish that sentence, so he ended it there.

Crowley doesn’t need a partner.

Time to find out who this Abby is.

The name meant something to him. It rung bells of recognition in the angel’s brain, but he’d never heard Crowley utter the name in conversation before now. He wasn’t sure he believed that this Abby was some run-of-the-mill human. He liked to think the demon had quite high standards. For a human to turn he head, well, she’d have to be something.

But maybe she wasn’t human. He recalled a conversation the pair had had a few weeks after armageddon was set in to motion, and everything seemed bleak.

One night six drinks deep in a nice merlot Aziraphale had found the courage to ask.

“D’you ever think you could settle down?”

The demon peered over his glasses.

“With a human, of course.” The angel finished hurriedly. “See what all the fuss is about?”

Crowley had shrugged.

“S’not something I’ve ever thought of.” He screwed up his nose. “They’re quite _blah._ Also, they tend to die.’

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, completely missing the way Crowley had pushed his glasses in to his hairline to stare at the angel.

“Suppose it’s not good to get involved in their affairs.” Aziraphale swirled his glass and downed the dredges. “They’re got their side. I’ve got my side. You’ve got your side. Best not let things get messy.”

The demon slumped back on the couch and pushed his sunglasses on to his nose.

Aziraphale had a sinking feeling, the kind of feeling that threatens to let your heart drop to the floor and stay anchored there until someone pried it off. That someone would have to be his demon, and even then it may not happen, what Aziraphale feared may actually be true:

Abby was a demon, who usually went by Abbadon.

He was so seized by guilt and anger and fear that even if the angel’s heart wasn’t threatening to exit his body and take up residence on the cold floorboards of his shop, Aziraphale could not physically move.

He stood there, mind racing at a mile a minute for goodness knows how long.

⁂

A few actual miles away, Crowley was leisurely feeding the ducks.

“Puddles,” he hissed as a large mallard trampled his friends to inhale the next round of peas. “For goodness sake, don’t be a glutton!” the demon paused, hand in the bag, hit with a strange moral dilemma. Should he actually be encouraging gluttony in ducks? He was a demon, after all, and temptation wasn’t just reserved for the hominids. He shrugged and scattered some more peas as the ducks scrambled in the grass to find purchase.

There was a loud squawk near his ear, and he didn’t even flinch. Abaddon was a strange one. Crowley had first taken a liking to her because the duck was jet black all over, and he’d never seen it before. Also, it fit with his aesthetic, really spooky and stuff. Then as Crowley got to know the dynamics of the family of ducks that hung around the attaches on the daily, he noticed the duck hung back. It was scruffy, a little on the thin side and painfully shy. It wasn’t until Crowley had put aside some bread for her specifically, that she approached him and gave a soft squawk. Not a quack, but a strangled squawk.

That little squawk that made the other ducks give her a berth, and made little kids run away screaming, made her all the more fearsome in Crowley’s eyes.

“You’re a real little devil, aren’t you?” He knelt down and the duck gave him an affectionate nip. He’d burn in hell before he admitted that he felt affection too.

From then on she was christened the demon of Saint James’ park.

⁂

Abbadon had perched herself on the bench next to Crowley when his mobile began to ring. He made a show of including the duck. The screen showed it was a call from the bookshop, from Aziraphale.

“Do we want to answer it, sweetness?” There was a rough squawk which the demon took as agreement.

“Hello, angel. What is it?”

“What is it?” The other man blustered. “What is it?!” He voice grew higher and more panicked.

“Crowley, I want to meet this Abby lady. I’m, well, I’m concerned, for you. Or for her, goodness knows poor woman getting involved with a demon!”

Crowley bit his tongue as Abby bobbed her head in the background.

“I want you to bring her to dinner tonight. So I can meet her. This is non negotiable.” The was a slamming as Aziraphale hung up the phone.

Crowley had a choice to make and honestly, it was worth sacrificing what was left of reputation just to see the look on the angel’s face.

He called back the bookshop, and Aziraphale answered on the first ring.

“Non negotiable.” He sung in to the speaker, before Crowley even had a chance to speak.

“Yes, I realise that. I was just going to say that I’ve invited her and she’s more than happy to come, but we’ll meet you at the restaurant. The Italian place near the park?”

“Okay,” Aziraphale sounded suspicious once again. “Why the Italian, I thought we agreed that the tapas was better?”

“_My lady_,” Crowley place a special emphasis on the word. “Loves her bread.” He hung up before Aziraphale could ask any more questions.

“So, Abby.” The demon grinned slyly at his feathered companion. “I heard you like garlic bread? Restaurant’s pretty formal, might need to get you tidied up a little bit.”

There came an excited squawk beside him.

Aziraphale was seething, so this was how he was going to play it? Show up with her and hope that Aziraphale couldn’t sense that she was a demon? He got dressed angrily, made tea angrily, and sat at his kitchen table steeping in his anger until it was time to leave for the restaurant.

⁂

He was late. Aziraphale loitered out the front of the restaurant, craning his neck to spot Crowley and his mysterious, infernal partner arrive. There was no decent parking, so he figured they’d be walking. Or maybe Crowley wanted to woo her with how well he failed to obey the road rules. Either way, he was late and Aziraphale was, there was no other word for it, pissed off.

A shadow fell over his shoulder and Aziraphale started, Crowley had walked up behind him with —

“What the fuck?” Aziraphale spluttered. Other citygoers turned to stare at the scene.

Crowley stood beside the angel wrangling what looked to be a small storm cloud. The demon himself was wearing a suave black suit and tie, upon second glance it seemed he had his arms clamped around an enormous black duck wearing a tartan bow tie. He was grinning like a maniac. If ducks could grin, Abby would be too, she’d never been on an adventure like this.

“Angel, meet Abby,” the demon shifted the duck to rest on his hip like a small child.

“Abby, meet Angel.” The duck gave a gurgling squawk and nipped at Aziraphale’s bow tie, as if to say “Hey, we match!”

Aziraphale felt weak at the knees. Yes, his heart had returned to his body at an alarming speed and now it was working overtime. _Abby was a duck. Abby was a duck. Of course she was a duck._ The angel breathed out hours of pent up anger and, when there was room for another emotion, it was replaced with embarrassment.

“Why did you bring a duck to a restaurant?” Aziraphale hissed.

“You said bring Abby, that it was non negotiable.” The man’s smile rivalled a Cheshire Cat.

He began to wander towards the entrance, cradling his well dressed lady friend in his arms.

“I warned you she liked bread!” He called out as the angel stood there spluttering for a response.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale exacts his revenge, and our husbands arrive at a soft ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m soft and couldn’t pass up the opportunity for doting Aziraphale and jealous Crowley.

Aziraphale dithered in the entrance way to the restaurant.

A large part of him (the part with the raging headache since Crowley had turned up with his friend) wanted nothing more than to go back to the bookshop, make a strong cup of tea and resolutely ignore the demon for an appropriate amount of time. The angel had a fairly systematic way of deciding how much time constituted an “appropriate” amount. This was largely based on Crowley’s prior transgressions. Bringing a duck to a Michelin starred restaurant just to prove a point. What was the point exactly? Maybe Aziraphale had come off a little bit jealous over the phone and now the demon was rubbing in the hilarity of his mistake. No, if that was the reason, the demon had it wrong: Aziraphale hadn’t been _jealous,_ he was just concerned.

And he’d be damned if he let Crowley win this one.

He straightened his bowtie (he’d also be damned if the duck wore it better) and haughtily marched over to the table Crowley had occupied. Abby was sitting on a high chair next to him, neck stretched out in an attempt to reach the breadsticks on the table. Crowley moved them away as Aziraphale took a seat.

Naturally, one may begin to question, what kind of restaurant lets a duck anywhere but the kitchen? Humans, incredibly simple beings (Aziraphale would say this like a term of endearment), have an innate ability to presume normalcy until proved otherwise. In this case, the humans saw what they expected to see, and it was a couple out to dinner with their raven haired daughter. Unless Crowley were to signal a waiter and pointedly tell him that it was a duck, not his daughter, in the high chair, they were able to dine in relative peace.

Aziraphale sat down stiffly opposite the high chair, and avoided Crowley’s smug smile. He was itching to berate the demon for absolutely everything, none the least ruining their night. If Crowley was poised to win, thought Aziraphale, then this is undoubtably a game that two could play.

“Abby,” Crowley frowned as the angel leaned in to the duck. “How did you two meet?” The duck had taken to tugging at her bowtie, finally succeeding in unravelling it. Crowley lunged forward “No, you can’t eat that, that’s angel’s”

Aziraphale spared a moment to glare at him.

“You gave her one of my bow ties?”

“Thought you’d recognise it.”

Aziraphale made a huffing noise and resumed his one sided interrogation.

Now there’s a disparity between what the humans see is going on (a couple dining with their daughter) and the way in which the warm, white haired man was rapidly firing questions at a toddler. That’s okay, we tend to turn away from things that make us think too hard. As the child squawked and gurgled in reply to the man, no diners batted an eye. Crowley, however, grew grumpy.

Aziraphale had dragged his chair closer to Abby’s, and had propped up the menu between the two of them.

“Mmm, roast pumpkin and steamed zucchini.” Abby ruffled her feathers joyfully, still eyeing the breadsticks out of the corner of her eye. Aziraphale called a waiter over and ordered for Abby and himself before looking expectantly at Crowley.

“The linguine and a glass of your house red.” The waiter scribbled away. “Make that the whole bottle, thanks.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow in amusement. This was going to be quite easy.

“You’re very pretty Abby.” The angel crooned, reaching out to tickle under her chin. Abby, keen on the affection, all but launched herself in to the man’s lap. Aziraphale was wearing a cream suit, but didn’t even flinch as muddy feet traipsed over his pants. Abby settled contentedly with her chin resting on the table, staring across at Crowley. He glared at her. If ducks could smile, she would, and not just because she was now immensely closer to the breadsticks.

“Well, this is quite a turn of events.” Aziraphale couldn’t quite keep the delight out of his voice. Abby liked to be patted like a cat, it seemed, and that suited the angel just fine. Every time he ran his hand down her back, it seemed to ruffle Crowley’s feathers even more.

“I can see why you were so taken with her. Very demonic.”

Crowley nodded.

“She’s a softie of course,” the angel continued and this earned him a withering stare. “All bark, no bite.”

As if Abby had been following the conversation, she let out a strangled squawk, which made the nearby diners swoon.

Their meal arrived promptly, and Aziraphale made a show of settling Abby back in to her seat. In fact, it wasn’t even a show anymore, he’d become quite taken with the creature. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was wondering if she would consent to being a customer deterrent for his shop. He watched the way she began to attack her vegetables and concluded she might not so much be a deterrent as the complete opposite.

Crowley had never looked so interested in a plate of food as he did the Linguine in front of him now. He was sulking somewhat, that much Aziraphale was sure, but the angel couldn’t quite pick what the gripe was.

Certainly, in the short time they’d been at the restaurant, he’d made quick work of turning the tables. From lingering on the street, debating on fleeing back to the bookshop to, if he was reading the situation right, having the upper hand in the situation. Crowley was used to winding him up and watching Aziraphale go off in a spectacular firework display of panic and anxiety and irritation. But there was something deeper.

Aziraphale resolved to do some more prodding (some would call it taunting) to find out.

“So,” he set down his fork, trying to ignore the occasional piece of pumpkin that was launched from Abby’s direction. “I’m glad that you’re not out associating with a demon, after all this.” He chuckled hesitantly. Crowley stayed silent, stabbing at his linguine.

“But this whole misunderstanding got me thinking, about maybe trying dating.”

Crowley dropped his fork with a clatter. Even Abby, sensing the mood had changed, looked up briefly from her bowl.

“You mean…” Crowley flushed slightly, drawing out the sentence for Aziraphale to finish.

“Dating a human.” Aziraphale said primly, spearing some gnocchi on to his fork and humming happily. “I thought about it and it’s silly that we deny ourselves the basic pleasures in life.” (Crowley made a choking sound) “just because we’re immortals. So what, maybe we get attached? That’s hardly new, I mean, it’s the same as losing a dear friend. You remember how long I mourned after Keats passed.”

Crowley fought to regain control of his airways, eventually downing the rest of his wine to stop the spluttering.

“That’s surprising,” he tried for nonchalant and missed by a mile. “But I think it’s a horrible idea. Humans, messy, messy and like I said before, so boring and simple.”

“What’s the alternative?” The angel’s expression was unreadable. “Dating a duck,”

He gestured to Abby, who was glad to have the attention back to her and proceeded to sit in the remnants of her dinner.

Crowley’s eyes rolled back.

“For the last time angel, I never said we were dating, you just love jumping to conclusions.”

_Admit it, you couldn’t bear the thought of sharing Crowley with someone else._ Aziraphale squashed that thought down, only to be assaulted by variations on the theme.

“So, do you have a better suggestion?” Aziraphale bit back before he could stop himself and cringed at how painfully desperate that sounded. But Crowley’s face relaxed a little and he sat up in his seat. Pushing his glasses to rest on the top of his head, his amber eyes locked unwaveringly on his companion’s.

“Well,” he pushed around the remains of his food, very much aware that the ball was in his court. This night could end badly if he didn’t get this right. Or maybe even if he did get it right, the angel would baulk at the suggestion. Before he could speak, Abby began to flap her wings, as if looking to take a scenic trip around the dining space.

“Shit,” Crowley jumped up and grabbed the duck mid take-off, pinning her wings to her sides. In the commotion, half their table got overturned. Guests, now thoroughly aware that there was a duck in their midst (for there was no way the human brain could explain away a human baby taking flight) began screaming and grabbing at their belongings as if there were a pterodactyl on the loose.

“Let’s get out of here.” Crowley said hurriedly, tossing his entire wallet down on the table and making for the door with Abby. Aziraphale quickly righted the scene, and did enough fiddling with the diner’s memories to ensure that they remembered a quite unremarkable evening, before following his companion.

Out on the darkening street, Crowley had let Abby roam, though she stuck close to the man’s side. Aziraphale caught up, puffing slightly.

“That was—“ he began.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“That was hilarious.” Burst out the angel, letting out a small laugh. “What better way to let them know their gnocchi is average at best than let a duck loose during peak service?”

Crowley chuckled too. Abby squawked with delight.

“Angel,” he said in a voice slightly louder than a whisper once they’d finished laughing. “I really think Abby’s great.”

Aziraphale nodded in agreement, wondering where the demon was going with this.

“And I was thinking, if she wanted to hang around, I might keep her. If that’s okay with you of course.” He finished hurriedly.

His friend grinned bemusedly.

“What are you checking with me? It’s obvious she adores you, and you, her.”

Crowley relaxed slightly, voice catching in his throat as he forced out his next words.

“Good, ah, because I was going to suggest that we, uh, take care of her together.” He held his breath as the man beside him froze, silently processing the words.

“Yeah,” his reply was soft but tinged with a relief, a happiness, that Crowley hadn’t heard since the apocalypse failed. “That would be wonderful.”

They walked side by side as Abby lead the way to St James’ park, somewhere near the entrance gate, Aziraphale leaned in slightly and slipped his hand through his companion’s.

**Author's Note:**

> A spinoff to my Tumblr post where Crowley adopts a duck.  
Please note, Crowley was joking and no ducks ate garlic bread in the execution of this prank.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr at [@sorrens](https://sorrens.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please feel free to browse my other Good Omens fics. I've written a few AUs, some angst, some crack, some questionable use of internet humour, basically ineffable husbands in many flavours.


End file.
